


My Fair Lady

by ProfessorScrooge (Professor_JRC)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Conversations, F/F, F/M, Female Eggsy Unwin, Misogyny, My Fair Lady (1964) References, Pansexual Character, Physical Abuse, References to Drugs, Royal Marines, Soldiers, Swearing, elitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professor_JRC/pseuds/ProfessorScrooge
Summary: Eggsy Unwin lived an interesting life, this much was always a constant. In one universe, a switch was flipped that changed a lot else, and yet not that much. In this world, My Fair Lady is an apt comparison. In this world, Eggsy is short for Gabi, which is short for Gabriella. Some things change a lot due to this, and strangely a lot doesn't.Pan!Eggsy, Fem!Eggsy x Princess Tilde
Relationships: Tilde/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Kudos: 16





	My Fair Lady

My Fair Lady

Eggsy Unwin lived an interesting life, this much was always a constant. In one universe, a switch was flipped that changed a lot else, and yet not that much.

* * *

Gabriella Unwin is born wailing, a flailing bundle of limbs with a set of lungs and a need to be _heard_. Her mother lies back in exhausted half-delirium while her father lifts her up to the light with the widest goddamn smile.

“Hello Gabi,” he says, proud as can be.

* * *

Things remain much the same.

As a young child, she struggles to pronounce even the shortened ‘Gabi’ and ends up forever known as Eggsy. Her father goes away on a military tour abroad. He returns and talks with another young man in a bespoke suit. He goes away again, and this time he doesn’t return. Even years later, she still remembers the muggy memories of a man in a suit, and wraps a hand around the medal she would later wear around her neck.

“ _Oxfords, not Brogues.”_

Her mother descends into a depression. The meagre child support isn’t much to live on, and she does try to find enough work to provide, but it’s so hard with a wailing child wanting to know when daddy would be home. She has a string of boyfriends, many of them neither good nor kind, but she needs the contact, needs the certainty, needs the highs she gets with them – emotional, chemical, and alcohol. When Dean gives her a sense of security, and another incoming child, she tries her best to be better, but is painfully aware of how much she’s lost in the meantime and the creek she was up.

And Eggsy grows into a young woman with potential.

She is still called a chav, still learns to be defensive, still learns petty thug shit like how to throw a punch and pick a pocket, still grows one hell of a gob that fires off at twenty miles a minute. She is still an athletic champion at a young age, still a master of parkour ‘round the estate, causing trouble. She butts heads with the looming shadow of Dean and his predecessors, refusing to give an inch to the assholes. She takes a few martial arts classes to go with her street learning.

But there are differences. She grows up watching Tracy Beaker, and idolising Morgana when she learns the old myths, not Arthur. She takes the underestimation that comes from her accent, and builds on it with clothes and expressions. She learns how to tell if someone’s only paying attention to her looks, and how to use that. She learns the danger signs for when somebody is being pushy in how they’re coming onto her, and precisely when to give them a well-deserved kick in the ballsack. She doesn’t quit the athletics, or her other training – there’s no sneer at a man doing a ‘women’s’ sport, just the replacement come-ons from vapid teenagers. She has a few brief boyfriends, an even briefer girlfriend who was way too high-maintenance, and some flings at parties, but overall she is too focused for any of the other teenagers to deal with. She learns to be hard, and sharp at the edges; learns to be a fighter.

The moment the ink is dry on the decision to let women on the frontline in 2016, her application to the Royal Marines is in the post.

Her interview is six months later; she grins, and smiles, and when the interviewer suggests it would be a shame to have to cut her pretty hair, she grabs the scissors off his desk and snips her ponytail off in front of him. The physical trials are a month after that. Four other woman are put on the same test run; there’s some news stories and publications about them that Eggsy doesn’t pay much attention to. The exercises are designed to be gruelling, exhausting, and demeaning. On day 3, after another fall in the mud, she spits the sod out of her mouth and asks the drill sergeant if he’s holding back because she’s a woman, or if he treats all the new recruits like little girls. At the end of the week, he personally hands her the acceptance letter with a grin. She’s going to be the first; none of the others made the cut.

She feels light as a feather as she returns home, only to crash down to earth when confronted with her mother. They argue about it, of course, the day she’s due to leave for Basic, after weeks of dancing around the subject, and her mother’s forlorn looks as if Eggsy was betraying her. Only Daisy wailing’s stops them as Eggsy goes to comfort her baby sister.

She’s twenty weeks in, fresh off an aced marksmanship test when she gets the letter. The tear-stained, begging letter.

In another universe, that would be it. Eggsy Unwin quit that day.

Here, it took another two weeks of churning guilt. She’d come so far, damnit! She couldn’t give up; it wasn’t fair! She wasn’t just some girl from the estate, she was going to be the first female marine. A soldier; a _fighter_. Like her dad. Too like her dad, it seemed.

The phone call does her in.

An old friend, training to be a nurse at their local hospital (and able to pass the call off as important enough to get around her CO). Her mum had come in for injuries relating to ‘falling down the stairs’. Knowing the Unwin’s home life, Julie didn’t buy that one bit and said as much. Eggsy was on the next train home. She makes it clear where she and Dean stand: if he laid one abusive finger on either Daisy or her mum, then she would kill him – his ‘position’ at the estate or not. For a while, he even took her seriously and kept it up a little before slowly sliding back into his arse of a self.

(Critics use her dropping out as evidence to criticise letting women into the military. Another candidate isn’t approved for three years. She tries not to feel the guilt.)

Eight months later, spinning her wheels in misery, she bounced from shit job to shit job. Even tried, reluctantly, peddling some drugs for Dean – and nothing else, despite what every bloke seemed to think he could buy from her.

So, when out with her mates at the local, with one of Dean’s goons in her face, it wasn’t surprising that she snapped.

A shark like smile, a pair of stolen keys, and a short car chase later landed her in a cell. Not for the first time in her life, admittedly, but the first time they really had anything to pin on her.

And so the pattern remains the same.

* * *

A phone call. A man in a suit. A bar fight. A fierce loyalty displayed. Potential witnessed. An invitation.

My Fair Lady.

* * *

She’s well used to the insults, letting words like ‘chav’ and the McDonalds jab roll off her back. When Rufus outright queries whether she got there by acting on her knees, though, she decks him. She dares him to repeat what he said as he lies back with a broken nose.

That rather sets the tone for her relationship with every candidate other than Roxy, who is even closer to Eggsy with the early demonstration of their fellow candidate’s rampant sexism to go with the elitism (it wasn’t like the others had done anything more than laugh at Rufus’ ‘joke’).

Other than that, things continue. If anything, Eggsy has even more to prove, and lives up to that with flying colours.

(She picks JB deliberately, though. Pugs are cute.)

* * *

She glares at Charlie and his smug, smackable face as Roxy holds her back. Water drips down her back, the bucket still in his hands.

“Pleb,” he calls her.

“Charlie, fuck off!” Roxy responds fiercely as Eggsy gathers a startled JB into her hands.

“Nah, it’s fine Rox,” she responds with hateful eyes, “it’s just he don’t know any other ways to get a girl wet. Here’s a hint; don’t be a sexist, elitist prick.” She enunciates each word clearly, throwing it in his face.

“Oh, I’ve had more girls in my lap than I can count,” he retorted in a condescending tone.

“I bet I’ve had more, and that they had a better time than with your limp dick,” Eggsy responded acidly. That, at least, threw the ‘men’ for a loop, before a more perversely speculative look came onto Charlie’s face.

“Ooh of course you’re a rugmuncher; no wonder you’re sticking so close to Roxy,” he jeered, “mind if I spectate? There’s a lack of-.”

This time, it was Roxy who threw a punch, and Charlie who ended up on the floor with blood running from his nose.

Merlin noticeably didn’t comment anything other than a raised eyebrow the next morning.

* * *

The NLP test is a point of contention.

Charlie is distinctly unhappy when they each reveal photos of an aristocratic looking young man. Eggsy even more so.

“What the hell? You’re really expecting me to…” he splutters angrily.

“Yeah; are you really asking us to take one for the team here?” Eggsy adds blankly, “just, spread our legs and think of England?” She’d spent a lifetime trying not to be defined by her value merely for sex, and now that’s where this had come to?

“You are to win over the target and get the needed information through whatever means you see fit,” Merlin answered smoothly, “you’re here for an intelligence position. Sometimes, you’re going to have to gather intelligence from people, so you need to show you’ve developed some method of doing so.”

Right.

She was going to be bringing this one up with Harry later. Seriously, the fuck?

* * *

They all did a little observation before swooping in on the target, champagne in hand – helpfully provided to them for free with entry – and blending in. Charlie jumped first, eager to get in and establish a rapport so he could dismiss the women when they approached. Roxy went next, and Eggsy moved last, taking a sip of her champagne to blend in, and then frowning as the taste registered.

“Is it just me, or does this champagne taste a little bit funny?” she asked to the others seriously, interrupting Roxy’s breakdown of Charlie’s intro.

“Yeah, it’s an acquired taste, darling,” Charlie dismissed easily.

“I think it’s just cheap,” Roxy added, not wanting to let Charlie dominate the conversation.

“Get one of these instead,” their target stated, lifting his drink, “can’t go wrong with a G&T.”

Charlie rolled on, moving to dismiss her as some cheap floozy trying seduction – as expected – but Eggsy was more focused on her drink.

A man – a decent one, at any rate – wouldn’t have much familiarity with the idea of spiked drinks. Nor would an upper class woman who was too straight laced and sensible to be caught in a vulnerable situation.

Eggsy was neither of these things.

She surreptitiously dipped a finger into her drink, muscles tensing as the nail polish turned from pink to purple. Shit. Ever since she’d been saved from a nasty event by an observant friend, she’d switched to a special brand of nail polish for exactly this reason.

“Don’t drink,” she hissed barely above the background music, deadly warning in her tone. Charlie didn’t even seem to notice, but Roxy narrowed her eyes. Anything she was about to say was interrupted by a man in a white tuxedo calling their young _lord_ , apparently, away for a phone call.

He was carrying a bottle of champagne. The same one their drinks had been filled from. He’d been at the door to give them their free drinks. Why was he leaving his post to run an errand?

Her eyes were clocking him, even as she smiled and held out her glass for more, eyeing his jacket and looking for any weapons – silently cursing this damn mission and the fact that she had to wear a proper dress, and that because of the expectations of what they were to do, she couldn’t wear a thigh holster where the mark could see it. Had he heard her statement? Her gaze swept around the club atmosphere, looking for exits and…

The bouncer, and the barman, and another bloke in a tux. All of them were looking right at her. Reinforcements.

Double Shit.

She turned back to face the other two, ready to bark orders, but they were slumping onto the sofa. Lightning fast, her hands caught the drink-pourer’s arm, but due to the angle he was still able to jab the waiting syringe into her own forearm.

Still, she steeled herself, going in for a swing that he backstepped from with a creepy grin on his face. He looked almost… pleased.

“Not bad,” he complemented sleazily, his American accent showing as she went for him again, the base beat of the music heavy in her head. No, it was her arms that were heavy. And her eyelids. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fight the coming blackness as it enveloped her.

* * *

“Is Kingsman worth dying for?”

“Fuck yes!”

* * *

“Well done with the nail polish; I don’t think anyone’s ever figured out the test that quickly before,” Merlin complemented her. “You should also know this is the same stage your father reached.”

“I didn’t know it was still a test,” she answered carefully, not letting her displeasure show. Not sharing that, as she’d fought the drugs, her mind had been filled with all the horror stories she’d heard of drugged and kidnapped women. The fuck kinda show were these people running? Between this and the parachutes, the duplicity was really racking up.

* * *

“This is my new P.A,” Harry says to Valentine. “I’m just introducing her to my tailor.”

* * *

Eggsy weighed the pistol in hand, the cool metal familiar despite the Kingsman addition of a shotgun shell loader underneath. She looks first at Arthur, then down at her adorably obedient little JB, then back to Arthur.

She shifts the gun up to point at the old fuck’s stern face, and he doesn’t so much as flinch.

She smirks, and pulls the trigger with a loud bang. The recoil barely judders her arm as the blank discharges. When she shifts the pistol back down he’s scowling.

“Do you custom make the blanks just for this test?” she asks faux-casually, teeth glinting like a shark’s, “they’re weighted just like real ones, very nice job.”

“You just tried to shoot me,” he replies in a growl.

“Considering the dog training is supposed to be a teamwork test, it’d be a bit of a fucked up team where you shoot your allies,” she replied, “and I’ve spent months training JB, he’s a good dog who doesn’t deserve a loud noise in his face to spook him like that.”

“You knew they were blanks, and you still chose to shoot me,” Arthur clarified, and she could see the shitstorm brewing in his eyes. “Disobeying a direct order.” There was a bang from the other room, identical to her own previous one. She wondered what Roxy had chosen? Probably shooting the dog, knowing her. She didn’t see the duplicity behind all this testing yet.

“Being a good little soldier who follows orders no matter how fucked up is how war crimes happen, bruv,” she retorted with an incredulous look, “I may be blonde, but I ain’t dumb.”

“Give me the gun,” he spat, red colouring his face. She chucked it at him without a care, watching him fumble with it – evidence of once good reflexes gone to pasture. Were Arthurs chosen from pre-existing knights, she wondered. “Get out!”

Well, that was that, then. Still, she’d walk out with her head held high, and her boy by her side. She whistled for JB, who stood up like the good, patient dog he was, following at her heels as she left the room and the stewing old fuck.

Heading outside, she spied the waiting taxi. Fuck it, why not? This had all started with a stolen car, why not let it end with one. She had some questions to ask Harry, anyway.

* * *

Her mum has a black eye.

Her _mum_ has a _black eye_.

She should never have left. Fucking- she was going to kill Dean. Fist to face, slam him into the fucking pavement. The Taxi’s wheels screeched as she drove to the Black Prince.

“No, NO! You have no right!” she yelled, slamming her elbow into the window as she was forcibly driven away from her rightful confrontation. “My fucking mum! Fucking, fuck! Bulletproof glass bullshit!”

She is a seething ball of anger by the time she sees Harry on the balcony. Their following conversation involves a lot of shouting. And swearing. Under the disappointed look, she can tell he is slightly proud of her decision and understands her choice, though.

* * *

Harry leaves, goes to America saying he’d sort things when he got back. She watches his feed in horror. Sees him get _shot_.

She breaks multiple speed limits driving the taxi to the Tailor’s.

* * *

Eggsy tries her best to comfort Roxy when they drop her off for her balloon journey. Even offers to take her place, but Roxy is too sensible – points out Eggsy is the better combat specialist of the three of them, and Valentine employed a _lot_ of high tier PMC’s who had conspicuously dropped off grid a few days ago. Still, things are tense. Even more so as she’s sat at a computer while Merlin goes into the lion’s den – no matter how shitty an issue it was, neither she nor Roxy could convincingly fake being male with such short notice. Finally, a situation Kingsman wasn’t perfectly prepped for, since they weren’t used to female agents.

So Eggsy was stuck coordinating Merlin in a strange role reversal, while waiting for the call to move in for backup as needed, memorising the route she saw him take. She couldn’t help tapping her foot, trying not to feel the weight of her new bespoke suit.

Everything seemed to be going fine until fucking Charlie of all people threw a spanner in the works. She was out of the plan and running before the alarm started blaring. Her pistol was up and firing at the guards without even a chance for them to notice her approach.

Merlin was nursing his arm when she reached him, unfolding her umbrella for cover at the guards chasing him. She covered his retreat with extreme prejudice as they quick timed back to the plane. He was staring at the computer screen as she finally got on board the plane after dealing with the last of their pursuers, maybe a full minute after him.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!” she exclaimed.

“Can’t,” Merlin answered, “I can’t get into Valentine’s machine, he’s got biometric security. You’re gonna have to go in there and make sure his hand never touches that button.”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

“I’m afraid not.”

* * *

“Merlin, I’m fucked.”

“As am I.”

* * *

Despite everything being so different, some things barely change.

* * *

Opening the shutter to the heavy security door revealed a wide-eyed blonde with aristocratic cheekbones and bedraggled hair.

“Aren’t you that Princess that went missing?” Eggsy couldn’t help but ask.

“Can you get me out of here?” she asked desperately.

“If I do, will you give me a kiss?” she asked cheekily, “I always wanted to kiss a princess.”

“If you let me out of here I’ll do more than give you a kiss,” the Swedish woman replied.

“ _You motherfucker_.” The voice over the PA made Eggsy’s heart sink. “ _You really think I was stupid enough to put one of those things in my own head? What are you, fucking crazy? You got all those innocent people killed, and for what? You didn’t stop shit!_ _It’s still happening!_ ” Inconceivably bright music filled the base. Oh god. He’d activated it, hadn’t he?

“Eggsy! The signal’s started! Get Valentine’s hand off that bloody desk right now!” Merlin’s voice was insistent in her ear.

“Sorry luv; gotta save the world,” she said with a grin to the Princess – an actual goddamn princess!

“If you save the world, I’ll make you see the stars?” the blonde replied with a hopeful look. Damn. Where had this woman been all her life? Sweden, she supposed.

“I’ll be right back,” Eggsy deadpanned.

“Good luck,” Tilde called out behind her.

* * *

A world saved. A Megalomaniac killed. A Princess made love to.

All in a day’s work for the newest Kingsman agent.

Galahad.

Merlin said it suited her.

* * *

Time passes. Somehow, the world recovers and keeps on spinning. Eggsy is having the time of her life as a super spy extraordinaire. Finally, she feels like she’s living up to her full potential. Somehow, in-between missions trying to clean things up, the girl from the council estate who’d never held a relationship longer than three months is sexting a Princess who’d left her number behind after a night in a mountain supervillain base.

When an assassination attempt comes in via intelligence, Merlin passes it on and they meet once more. Life saved, Tilde once again shows her appreciation in the bedroom. They talk and chat the next morning, and somehow Eggsy finds herself dating a princess. And she’d thought her one previous girlfriend was high maintenance!

Goddamn, she was worth it though.

Who knew princesses could be so down to earth? And kinky. The latter was probably attributed to being locked in castles with dragons or some shit.

It was all going so well that she was really heartbroken the day she went to Tilde with an epiphany.

* * *

“What’s got you so down?” she asked, concern in those big expressive eyes Eggsy loved so much. Especially looking up at her when she- nope, not the time.

“I-it’s difficult. You’re going to hate me,” she replied fearfully, eyes facing down at the sheets of the bed between them. They weren’t even mussed; she’d rebuffed Tilde’s advances for once, which was probably the reason for her concern. Said princess clearly wasn’t happy, and rolled over to straddle Eggsy, grabbing her chin so their eyes locked.

“Please, tell me,” she stated in somewhere between an order and a pleading tone. Eggsy slumped, the fight going out of her as she stared up at her concerned girlfriend.

“I had to get some info off a mark today,” Eggsy answered slowly.

“So?” she motioned for her to elaborate.

“So, when I was thinking through how to get it, Merlin made a joke about kissing him and that he’d probably be desperate to get in a pretty woman’s pants,” she continued, her gaze dropping down to where their bodies met. “I snagged it from his pocket, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said, and the NLP test we did way back in training…” She sighed heavily. “When I talked to Harry about it, he was surprised I had a problem with it. It’s just an expected part of being a spy, apparently; that you’re gonna seduce people and…” She sighed heavily, looking back up at her girlfriend. “I avoided it today, but how long can I avoid it for?” Tilde herself moved back, looking down at her appraisingly from on high.

“How do you feel about it?” she asked distantly.

“The idea makes me feel dirty,” Eggsy shivered, “and not in a good way, neither. And on top of that, I spent my life trying to prove I was more than a pair of legs, y’know? I like a fuck as much as the next girl, but I don’t… and even on top of that, there’s this.” She gestured between them. “Us. And I’m a whole lotta things, but I ain’t a cheater.”

“Good,” Tilde declared, leaning back down to plant a kiss on her lips. “Because I don’t share.” Reluctant as she was, Eggsy pushed the blonde off, and looked seriously at her.

“That’s just it, though. What if, next time, I don’t have a fucking choice?” she asked plaintively. “What if, it’s fate of the world versus taking one for the team. How can I choose?”

“And how likely is that to happen?”

“Babe, you know my fucking job. Saving the world, one fucking psycho at a time,” she answered honestly. It was kinda terrifying when she stopped to think about how many incredibly dangerous plots Kingsman and various other agencies around the world stopped on a daily basis. “And I love it, I do. But if I stick with it, some day it’s gonna happen. And I ain’t gonna have a choice because I have to go with the world. And if that’s just on me, I think I can live with that. Somehow. But I’m not the only one it fucks with. And I’m not gonna lie to you about it.” She looked pointedly at the blonde.

“So what are you saying? Are you declaring your intention to cheat on me?” Tilde looked somewhere between bewildered and angry.

“No, I’m… fuck,” this was so ridiculous, yet so painful, “I’m asking for permission. For mission critical reasons only.”

“And what if I say no?” she replied icily, full princess mode engaged. Eggsy was being stared down like she was the lowest of the low, the kind of glare Tilde reserved normally for paparazzi.

“Then that’s it, I guess,” Eggsy sighed, closing her eyes, “I can either leave you, which I don’t wanna do, so… I quit. Tell them I can’t make the required responsibilities of an agent and need replacing.” It really broke her heart saying the words. It had been going so well! She’d been living life like it was an amazing dream; the perfect, fulfilling job, a wonderful girlfriend, a family that was finally safe and cared for. Bliss. She opened her eyes to look up at Tilde again, finding her gaze a little hazy with unshed tears. God, when was the last time she’d cried? A hasty hand wiped away the liquid. “I can probably get a job as an analyst or something. Or support, maybe extraction,” the words tasted like ash in her mouth, “Kingsman always has openings somewhere.”

“But you love being an agent,” Tilde stated, confused.

“I do, yeah. But y’know what? I love you, too,” Eggsy forced a smile up at her stunning girlfriend. The woman who united Europe, some people called her in the wake of V-Day. The heir to one of the few surviving monarchies, and someone who received the public’s trust by evidently denying Valentine. Much as the lunatic had planned, the people he’d chosen to lock away were instrumental for humanity recovering, and had immediately gotten to work in the aftermath. Tilde had rallied her home nation within days, and was giving aid to other nations far before most everyone else had picked themselves up after losing their leaders. “So yeah, it’s up to you,” and she knew what Tilde would choose. She braced herself for the inevitable.

“Okay,” the word was so quiet Eggsy almost didn’t hear it. She blinked up at the other woman.

“What?”

“I said okay,” Tilde replied with a roll of her eyes.

“You’re-you’re okay with me… y’know,” Eggsy asked hesitantly.

“I’m not _okay_ , okay with it,” she stated shaking her head a bit, “I’m not exactly thrilled. But, I do understand. Seeing how unhappy you are about it helps, too.”

“Well… fuck,” Eggsy said succinctly, leaning back to stare at the ceiling as her expectations were turned on their head. “I was not expecting that. Oh fuck, this means I’m actually going to have to _do_ it at some point.” Tilde actually giggled at her sound of complete horror, and she switched her gaze to glare at her. “What if it’s a really fat guy? Like, those sorta rolls of fat? Those really creep me out.” The giggle was stifled by a hand. “I’m being serious!” Tilde couldn’t contain herself and burst out into laughter. “Some help you are.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” Tilde giggled again, “I was thinking of Bond girls. Or enigmatic supervillains, you know?”

“Nah, most terrorists are nasty fuckers; inside and out,” Eggsy responded. “Life just ain’t that kinda movie, luv.”

“Well, just you remember,” a hand reached down to grasp at her own, “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

“Trust me, it’ll be keeping me going. I’m gonna need a shoulder to cry on. And a bottle of vodka.”

“You hate vodka,” Tilde replied with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, I only drink it when I wanna hate myself.” The responding kiss was soft and reassuring.

“Don’t. Guilt, sure. But don’t hate yourself. You save the world, and at the end of the day you come back to me and I remind you why,” the princess said comfortingly, laying down to press their bodies together. “Speaking of… you more in the mood now?”

“Fuck yes.”

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where that came from. Just wanted to write and felt this little one. Nothing particularly amazing or inspirational, mostly just a canon retread while avoiding the 2nd film because fuck that film (including a dig at its stupid subplot involving cheating).


End file.
